


Help Me Forget

by Vocarin



Category: Persona 4, Persona Series
Genre: Catharsis, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Married Sex, Oral Sex, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vocarin/pseuds/Vocarin
Summary: Everyone has bad days, but some days you need to do more than get through. Some days you need to forget. Naoto has one of those days, and she knows who to go to to help her forget it.
Relationships: Shirogane Naoto/Tatsumi Kanji
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Help Me Forget

**Author's Notes:** Here's a little something I was inspired to write, kind of out of the blue. And because inspiration works like that, I had to put it to paper. Let me know what you think.

Thanks to Firion for his pre-reading and commentary.

This work does bring up some mature subject material, and I'm not just referring to the sex. Keep that in mind.

**Help Me Forget**

_"It's not fair, stealing just my heart... If you're going to take part of me... Take all of me."_

_~ Naoto_

Tatsumi Naoto sighed as she pulled her car into her driveway and cut the ignition, casting the garage door in front of her into darkness. Finally home, even if the precinct wasn't that far away. _What a day_. What an understatement. On nights like this, she was glad she'd driven the same route so many times that her car had memorized the way home. Nights like this made her want to drink herself under the table, and then under the floor. She wouldn't, much as the idea had possessed strong but fleeting appeal. She only drank during holidays or after closing big cases – and this case wasn't one she was going to celebrate – and...

Well, the other reason she wouldn't drink was because of where her hand was right now, stroking the growing bump of her unborn child of five months. No day, no case, no matter how bad, was worth risking her baby.

She hadn't even opened the car door, however, when the tears hit. Her hormones had become a witch's brew in recent months, sending her crying and laughing and anxious when she least expected any one of those three. Mixing those hormones with the usual stresses of work had made her, even by her own reserved standards, mercurial. She knew the mood swings were natural (all the books she'd read said as much, and Tatsumi-san, her mother-in-law who had been over the moon since they'd announced the pregnancy, confirmed it), and she knew that she should be more concerned if she didn't experience them. But she was still annoyed that she was becoming an emotional mess. She'd spent her life becoming competent and self-sufficient, not the sort to cry just because the milk was spilt.

Her discipline and indignation didn't hold the tears back, though. This time around, nothing could. She held onto the steering wheel and let them fall, but she kept the cries down. She wanted to scream and rage, wanted to take the events of the day out on a punching bag, but she wouldn't forgive herself if she did. If she let the pain out now, she wouldn't stop until she was completely empty. That could take up to an hour, an hour she could spend on her own life. If she cracked, she'd be letting that... that _bitch_ win. That wasn't happening, not here or now or ever.

The case had started off innocuous, a favour asked of the department chief from a friend whose teenage son had gone missing. The father, a widower and wealthy businessman, reported that his fifteen-year-old son had been acting different, going out at night and distancing from his friends, and one night he simply hadn't come home. All habits of being that age, Naoto had surmised, thinking nothing more of it. Her colleagues agreed with her assessment and went on with other cases. But the chief had insisted that Naoto take the case, not accepting any other answer. She'd protested loudly, knowing it was because she was expecting and the chief didn't want her on cases that would threaten her safety or her pregnant state. She'd proven time and again that she could handle the work – her colleagues agreed both to her face and behind her back on that point – but orders were orders.

She'd grumbled her way back to her desk after that, griping at the unfairness of being a woman in law enforcement. Other officers she'd heard of, even support staff she knew personally, could pop kids out and be right back to work, but she got pregnant and suddenly the brass were handling her with kid gloves. She'd allowed herself a rare fit of profanity and called the special treatment the bullshit that it was.

But a case was a case, and she followed her standard operating procedures. She'd gone over the boy's room and found used condoms hidden in the bottom of a waste basket, then found a journal with references to a romantic partner in his life. The practical assumption was that the boy had a girlfriend and was keeping her a secret, but apparently he was quiet and unassuming, didn't leave the house much, and hadn't had luck with girls up to this point. It was easy enough to consider that something minor had happened, and the boy had made that something minor into something major. Typical steps of adolescent courtship and future heartbreak, such that everyone went through, but Naoto dug deeper.

Looking back now, she wished she hadn't. Her teeth grit until the tears slowed.

She'd followed the trail, interviewing the hired nanny who was there to cook meals, clean up, be the feminine figure in the home until quitting time, and so on. No idea why the boy had changed, no idea where he went, okay ma'am thanks for your time. Naoto ran the woman's credit cards out of habit, even over protest, and followed up her leads on the boy, right down to following one of his friends whose unease during standard questioning screamed, "Hiding something." She'd followed her instincts and the evidence, chased the lies until they led to the truth. And what a truth it had been.

The short and sick of it came out today. The nanny's records involved recent trips to a local love hotel, and the boy's bank expenses included purchases at expensive jewelry stores and large cash withdrawals. When Naoto, beginning to dread where things were leading, had trailed the nanny, she'd found the boy in her apartment. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together, not when the boy, half naked and face fervent, declared that he was with his girlfriend and they had done this before, that they were in love and consenting and no one could get in the way of that. The nanny had been naked under the covers, her demeanour completely changed from a meek, polite maid into the cold, calculating persona of a sexual predator.

Naoto had slapped the cuffs on personally, but before she was even done her report the woman had been released. The father, dreading the publicity of having such a person on his payroll, had begged that she not be charged. Naoto had been ready to throw the woman into the deepest, darkest cell she could find, citing the Japanese laws regarding sexual conduct with a minor by an adult, but the chief had gotten a phone call and intervened, making his reasoning known: the damage that could be done to the family's reputation, considering the father's status as a corporate riser and a political friend of certain people, was too great to allow. In order to ensure neither father nor son was ostracized for the scandal – and that no one further up was smeared by the incident – any charges would be minor at best. Which meant nothing would stick.

Naoto knew that bad things happened in life. She'd learned that during the murder investigation and had been reminded of it since she'd earned her badge. The police responded to crimes that had already been committed, they weren't there to act in advance and prevent something that hadn't happened yet. But Naoto couldn't begin to fool herself that justice had been served, nor that the law had been upheld. And she knew the statistics, the psychological damage done to sexually assaulted minors: fear of attachment and intimacy, emotional instability, promiscuity or aversion to all things sexual, antipathy toward the offending sex, increased risk of suicide, psychological reliance on the perpetrator, and, in this case, a clear sign of Stockholm Syndrome and blind attachment that no logic or reason would get past. She knew this boy's wellbeing was genuinely at stake in a situation like this, but that hadn't been the first or second concern in the end, not when someone was trying to save face.

And worst of all, she knew the nanny would be paid off for her silence while the police had been cuffed by the politics of the situation. The boy would be damaged for the rest of his life and woman would seek out fresh prey, without a doubt. Why stop vile behaviour when it was rewarded with money? Why worry about the victim when he was complicit in the crime? So long as the appearance of order was maintained, who cared if a young man was left as a casualty?

If anyone had asked Naoto, she would have called such an outcome an abomination of the law. But no one had asked her, certainly not the higher-ups. Instead, the verdict came down and that was that. Case closed, good work, sleep well, see you tomorrow.

Naoto had burned with fury at the outcome, her good work gone up in flames because of internal politics. She'd been on her way to the chief's office, about to say something that would have ended her career, before her friends literally pulled her back from his door and held her in a side room until she promised not to say what she wanted to. She spoke her mind to them, but not to anyone else. She fumed and raged against the decision, heard similar anger from the other detectives, and they all agree to let it go and then went back to the desks. Not about to take the decision lying down, however, she finished her report, slammed it on the chief's desk in person, and walked out. She'd shut off her phone even before she reached her car. She'd needed to come home. More than alcohol or crying, she'd needed to get this case behind her, to forget it entirely. As soon as possible. Tonight.

She straightened in the car seat and wiped her face, blew her nose and cleared her throat, then went into her house: Tatsumi Textiles.

The dim storefront welcomed her, closed for the day. Naoto saw the attention to detail that Urumi-san – the young lady whom Kanji's mother recommended for the job of working the front – put into tidying up and facing the merchandise. The woman's attention to detail was excellent, but she'd admitted that she would never be a creator the likes of Kanji, so she dedicated herself to warming up to their customers and advertising his works, things he rarely had time for now. Hiring her had been a good choice; he'd never have Urumi-san's grace and fine touch in sales and customer service, not with his bleached hair, muscular build and direct attitude. In part because of that feminine influence, business had been booming for months.

Naoto inhaled the familiar scent of fabric, the light incense Urumi-san used, and the perpetual scent of fresh-fallen rain that let her know she was home. She crossed the store and slipped into the hall that led to the back, to the workroom where she could hear a sewing machine running steadily despite the hour. The others had gone home, she knew, and Kanji was working late. She quietly opened the door, stepped in and closed it, letting the sounds and sights of the room anchor her.

The work room was organized chaos. Large enough to store two mid-sized cars – spare tires and tool chests included – it held sewing machines and bolts of fabric, shelves full of beads and books, tables covered with sketches and designs and half-finished ideas, and so many colours that it was like walking into a stationary kaleidoscope. Off to one side was a plush chair where a lady could sit and be comfortable while she worked or conceptualized, off to another was a set of dumbbell weights and a bench where Kanji worked out his stress, and on one wall hung gorgeous kimonos and plans for new ones. Everything in the room saw regular use now that Kanji had two apprentices – Himari-san, whose work had inspired Kanji to scout her personally; and an odd, blond foreigner whose name was so hard to say that everyone called him Bebe, who so loved Kanji's textile designs that he begged for a job until Kanji finally gave in. This was where the magic happened, where fabrics and materials became the products that people so eagerly purchased, where the three workers laughed and joked and put their sweat and blood into their craft. They all put in impressive hours, and only Kanji was still here now.

She stood by the wall and waited for him to finish, using the time to watch her husband at work.

He was amazing with his hands. He'd become so good with fabrics and cloth that he'd branched out to leather and resin items, making dolls and figurines, cell phone straps and watches and animal collars and trinkets with amazing ease. He'd developed such a sharp eye for detail that whenever he went to trade shows and exhibitions and saw something he liked, not only would he replicate it, but he'd make it better. And it wasn't just in soft, easy materials that he'd become so proficient. After he'd proposed to her, he contacted Master Daidara and broke into metalwork, insisting on making their wedding rings by hand. She'd read that it took months to adopt a new craft, that each metal acted differently and thus required its own touch. He'd beaten the odds and had her ring designed, forged and ready for her to wear in only eight weeks. She twisted it semi-consciously, a stunning piece made from platinum and white gold, twisted and braiding around her finger and glittering with such fine detail that it seemed alive. Anyone who noticed it asked where she got it, whether she was at work, on the train, or at the store. She always answered that her fiancé (now husband) made it for her from scratch, and the only thing second to the astonishment on people's faces was the envy they couldn't hide. Naoto wasn't prone to smugness, but having other women stare at her ring like that always gave her a curl of self-satisfaction. It was the same sense of satisfaction she felt when men, before her pregnancy and since, hit on her until they saw the ring on her finger. Without exception, they quickly left, either because they thought her tastes were expensive or because they knew they didn't have a chance. She felt the same satisfaction handing out Kanji's business card when people inevitably asked whether Kanji did custom orders, and she took pride in being able to advertise his good work.

Since then he'd taken on new metal projects like hairpins and small jewelry, and had even experimented with wood carving. He wouldn't get into making furniture or anything (so he said, but he'd probably try a few projects, like maybe a cradle for the baby), but he enjoyed trying new things and expanding his repertoire. His ventures were paying in dividends; whatever he made was barely put on the shelves before it was bought up by his growing clientele.

The sewing machine stopped, and she watched silently to make sure she wouldn't interrupt his train of thought. Once he was in the groove, he could lose hours at a time in his creations, and if he was crunching through a deadline then she didn't want to throw him off.

As though he could detect her concern, he set down the doll he'd been working on, then turned, smiled and waved her over. "Hey," he greeted softly, kissing her lightly and rubbing her swollen belly. "How're you doin'?" He always greeted her when he saw her, welcomed her home with a kiss no matter how late it was or how bad his day or hers had been. When he'd learned she was pregnant, he added the gentle stroke to her stomach, welcoming back both mother and unborn child. He cradled her gently, his concern apparent even when he had nothing to worry about. He'd been so tender with her at first that she'd had to tell him, repeatedly, to not treat her like she was made of fine glass (another medium he'd been working in). It had taken months of gentle insistence, and now he was finally granting that request.

She kissed him, wrapping him in an embrace. "We're well. Both of us. What about you? Have you eaten yet?"

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, eyes widening in surprise at the time when he looked at the wooden clock he'd made – carved, stained, made into a large dog with its tongue out to one side – on the wall. "Nah, not yet. I wanted to get ahead on some of the orders. Got a big order from Yukiko-senpai comin', and a few of the regulars are callin' too. It's that time a' year."

Naoto nodded. The Amagi Inn was a major client for Kanji, but more than that, Yukiko-senpai was always in need of new clothes for her growing family.

"How far ahead are you?" she asked, snuggling closer and pulling in his warmth.

She thought she'd kept her turmoil over her day to herself – she prided herself on being hard to read – but she must have slipped because he looked at her, eyes sharp. Maybe she still looked like she'd been crying, or perhaps the stress showed on her face. But she knew he'd have picked up on her mood even if she looked completely normal. After two years as friends, three years as a couple and almost four years married, he could understand her with a sensitivity that was almost feminine. He always knew when something was off, even if she tried to hide it, and the few times she asked how he knew, he could never explain it effectively. "What's wrong?"

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, picking and discarding her words. Now that she was here, her emotions wanted to boil over, wanted to burst out of her and rush down her cheeks and splatter all over the floor. But she wouldn't let them. She pushed those feelings down, locked them away for later, and instead murmured: "Could you help me forget something?"

He went still, surprise and uncertainty and concern flying past his eyes at mach speed, settling on understanding and rising heat. "Work was that bad?" he asked finally.

She hugged him tighter. "Yes."

He stroked her hand, kissed the back of it. "I've got one more I want to finish. Then I'll call it a night."

"I'll make dinner. Thank you." She kissed him again, stroked his shoulder, then backed away so he could get to work. She padded up the stairs to their apartment above the store, a spacious place big enough for them to have a family and cozy enough that they couldn't hide from their problems. She headed into the kitchen, donned her apron (frilly and feminine and blue, something she'd requested) and pulled out the ingredients for a simple, healthy dinner and let her mind drift as she cut vegetables and rifled through the fridge.

Her request sounded innocuous enough, wording that no one else would think unusual. It was a particular phrase between them, though, something she'd come up with. "Help me forget," was her polite, proper way of saying, "I need you to take me to bed and fuck my brains out so hard I can't think straight."

It had started before they were married. The stresses from her job had steadily grown to the point that her usual countermeasures became ineffective. Exercise, meditation, days off with her family and friends, and even more time in bed with Kanji weren't hitting her reset button. She knew that every officer had a breaking point, had only so many cases before they either transferred to a different division or just snapped. She didn't want to hit that point ever, and certainly not at the rate she'd been approaching it. It was after a particularly bad case that she'd approached the therapeutic effects of rough, athletic, feel-it-into-next-week sex, and suggested to Kanji that there be selective times when they strived for sex that made her so insensate, so worked over, that she couldn't dwell on her work. That he'd help her forget the case entirely.

He'd been reluctant at first and for some time after – he'd had no interest in anything that seemed like it might hurt her or make her less than his beloved wife. But when she explained the situation, he'd been willing to try it once. The results spoke for themselves; since then, she'd asked him to help her forget her cases four more times, the most recent having resulted in her pregnancy. She didn't know if the condom had slipped off or broken – at the time her mind had been drifting somewhere around Mars – but the deed had been done and since then they'd been navigating the new territory of becoming parents together.

She smiled, idly stroking her stomach with her free hand. It hadn't been how she expected to become a mother, but the consistent weight against her body, the fluttering in her belly that reminded her that a new life was growing inside her, the physical manifestation of her and Kanji's dedication to each other, it was all beyond anything she'd expected. She wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

She put together a dinner they could both dig into (they liked a lot of the same dishes, so making something they would both enjoy was simplicity itself), and busied herself with seasonings and dessert while the dishes bubbled merrily on the stove. She made sure to prepare a few of them just how Kanji liked them, and added a few little somethings to give them both a wake-up jolt; they would need some energy tonight.

She'd just started setting the table when he came in, stretching. "All finished," he reported.

"That was fast."

"It wasn't that big of a job," he commented, smiling as he saw her. "And I had some incentive to get it done; smells great in here."

"It's not much," she demurred.

"It's excellent," he insisted. He'd never been able to accurately describe the meals that Yukiko-senpai and Rise-san and Chie-senpai had presented before she joined the team. She was certain he was exaggerating, but he swore that he wasn't doing it justice. She couldn't understand how someone could create food as bad as he said; all one had to do was follow the recipe.

Dinner was an intimate affair, them sitting next to each other and enjoying the food and each other's company. She kept the conversation away from her case and he filled her in with talk of his projects and orders, ideas that he was discussing with Urumi-san for the store, and new commissions for his apprentices. They discussed their friends, upcoming birthdays or gatherings to attend, the offer from Yukiko-senpai to help through their first pregnancy and from Nanako-chan to babysit after their child was born. The girl had become very popular in the neighbourhood for her rapport with children, and thus had made a quick career out of babysitting during her spare time. Naoto smiled and felt the stress of the day begin to slip away. Their dinnertime dialogue had the needed humour and variety to help them both release the tension of the day, and when they leaned close together and when her hand strayed to her stomach, it encountered his having done the same thing.

Once dinner was over, she rose to put everything away, but he stopped her. "I got it," he told her quietly, sharing a knowing look with her. She rose and passed him, then squeaked in surprise when he grabbed her ass when she came within reach. He rubbed her rear before letting her go, and the glint in his eye matched her own knowing smile.

She went down the hall and into the bathroom attached to their bedroom. She dropped her work clothes to be washed and set about cleaning up. A quick shower, a light rub of lotion for her skin, and then she slipped into his t-shirt – the one she used as a nightgown (it fit better than the pajamas she wore before, accounting for her stomach. And Kanji often told her he loved how she looked in it) and, thinking it over, she put on the lacy black panties he'd made for her last year, comfortable and designed with side ties for easy removal.

Her wardrobe, so sensible and practical with her uniforms and normal clothes, had several drawers of delicate intimates and underwear selections that might have surprised anyone who'd know her when she'd been a teenager. Her tastes had changed over the years, and having ready access to a professional's input and services helped a great deal. One of many advantages of being married to a clothier with an active imagination.

She set their bed in order, dimmed the bedroom lights, dabbed light perfume behind her ears, then sat on the edge of their bed and waited.

She didn't have to wait long.

He immediately appreciated her efforts when he came in. He looked at the bed, with its new sheets that would certainly need to be cleaned in the morning. He sniffed the air, picking up the scent he loved above all the others in her repertoire. And he moved lightly through the dim room, quiet for someone his size, his frame getting bigger in her vision and ratcheting up her excitement. She understood how people thought he was intimidating, particularly as he removed his clothes. Sharp lines constituting his cheekbones and jaw line, broad shoulders and chest, thick biceps, a slim waist from regular intense fitness, he still looked like anything but a man who handled cloth and created children's toys for a living. Potential power was clear in his every move, and when he slid in behind her, arms around her possessively, hands on her stomach, she could feel his strength against her soft skin and slender physique. What he _could_ do to her sent a primal shudder of fear and excitement through her, and the combination of that and her love for him swirled into a potent cocktail of arousal. She wiggled back against him, and she felt another particularly large and strong part of his anatomy bumping against her back, firm and ready to do to her exactly what she asked for, making her breath hitch. He sniffed along her neck, quickly figuring out where his favourite scent was coming from. He chuckled, low and deep, in appreciation, and she squirmed at the predatory sound.

So much potential force offset by how he was stroking her baby bump and linking his fingers with hers, stroking her hand with matrimonial tenderness. All that strength and potential force held in check by the man who loved her, who looked out for her, who was the father of her child. It made her want to cry again, damn her hormones.

She didn't have the opportunity for any waterworks. Deciding that it was time to begin, he moved his hands under her shirt, muttered, "I love it when you wear this," in a low timbre right next to her ear, and slid a palm up to one of her boobs while kissing the flesh leading up to her neck, teasingly light. She stiffened, her nerves firing off even more than usual – another side effect of her hormones, and one she didn't mind at all.

Her breasts had been sensitive even before she'd gotten pregnant, and had become more so since. She'd worried he might not be able to find the right pressure that would work for her, worried they'd have to curtail their sex life because of the changes in her body. But Kanji picked up on the changes in her body almost as quickly as she did. How he did it she didn't know, but he found just the right amount of pressure to squeeze and fondle her with to ride the edge of discomfort without ever crossing it. Be it for massages, fondling and sex, cuddling after dinner or going for walks together, his hands worked miracles with her.

Case in point, his gentle caresses on her skin, fingers dancing along her nerve endings with his natural attention to detail. He took his time, worked slowly to escalate her sensitivity. She squirmed, hands on his arms, as he kissed the pulse point on her neck, whimpered as he slowly moved up along her ear and nipped the edge, all while switching breasts to work on and keeping her firmly in place with his other hand. She didn't have to pretend to enjoy this or put on a show for his benefit – he really was good at driving her crazy this quickly. When her gasps and moans rose in pitch, he directed her chin toward him and kissed her hard. His tongue overwhelmed hers, and she struggled only to egg him on. She was trapped, stewing in her own juices and horniness, and it made her pretty head swim.

He kept kissing her, taking the inside of her mouth and controlling her body with every touch, and her eyes popped open when his other hand drifted down to her waist and stroked the edge of her panties. He broke the kiss as he ran his fingers along the frills, grinning when they encountered the side ties and undid them. "Good choice." His voice was deep and ragged with arousal, and he kissed along her neck as his fingers deftly slid the rest of the way to her damp pussy. Even a glancing touch made her hips buck, and then he really got to work. One finger slid into her while he was still massaging her breasts, and Naoto whimpered. With those large hands she loved came long, slender fingers. Inside her pussy, they grazed the honest-to-goodness _right_ spots, light touches only, enough to rev her up but not enough to switch gears. She whimpered more as he teased her, his palm above her pelvis and her clit, not even offering the relief her body wanted. She moaned his name, wanting to escalate the things he was doing to her, wanting _more_ , but he took his time, stroking her insides until he was good and ready, leaving her squirming and stuck in place.

She gasped when he slipped a second finger in, rubbing her insides. Then he crooked his fingers forward, brushing her g-spot, and her back arched on its own while she whined. Either he was getting better at being carved from rock, or she was losing her sex appeal, because her sub-vocal pleading and needy little moans, how she rubbed back against him unconsciously, did nothing to increase his pace. Instead he continued with that light, deliberate cadence, working her up so she could see the edge, but not enough to send her over it yet. He continued at that maddening rate, and even when she tried to buck and pull him in deeper, he held her firm and moved his fingers away. "Bad girl," he admonished with a kiss to her neck. "You know better than that."

This was another border that had been expanded in their evolving sex life. With the request for him to make her forget had come the release of control over her role in bed, leaving herself at Kanji's mercy. Naoto hadn't expected to reach that point, but she trusted him so implicitly that when he restrained her and made her helpless, it only fired her up more. Knowing she could hand the reins over to someone, knowing he would value the responsibility given to him and be worthy of it, had been an epiphany she'd never quite gotten over, a depth of intimacy so intense that she, despite her expanded vocabulary, couldn't put it into words. The closest she could come was to say that she felt connected, truly _with_ this person, and she could trust him enough to be vulnerable with him.

She whimpered and pretended to struggle, tried to look him in the eye to shamelessly beg, and he chuckled. She nearly cried when his fingers retreated, but then she crooned as he adjusted and slipped in deeper, his thumb teasing her clit out of its hood. He was hitting all her sweet spots, coaxing her hips shamelessly up and out, still working on her boobs and nipping her ear, his rough breathing mixing with her own rising heart rate. He held her on the precipice for a while longer then pushed her to the peak like it was nothing, still stroking her even as she came hard and writhed in his arms, extending her orgasm and sending her mind tumbling around on clouds of fluttering colours and fluffy cotton candy. When she came back, gasping and sweaty and supported by his chest, he was stroking her hair, easing her into the afterglow. He'd removed his fingers and continued fondling her breasts, keeping her stoked even as she came down.

She was glad she'd dosed herself up at dinner – if she'd just needed to take the edge off before bed, she would have taken care of him and called it a night. But she was still awake and aching for more, curling up to him and humming invitingly. He chuckled, squeezed her and kissed her hard, and then he took her shirt off and laid her back, pulling her to the edge of the bed.

She bit her lip when she saw the burning glint in his eye, her pussy clenching when she saw he was so hard that he looked ready to burst. They hadn't really started yet and she already wanted the main course. He reacquainted her boobs with his mouth and teeth, riding that edge of pleasure and discomfort perfectly. She keened and whined, stroked his hair, then her breath hitched when he slipped down her body – paying particular attention to her stomach and even listening to it for a moment – and kept going.

She groaned reflexively. She'd hoped he would pick up the pace – or at least get to the good part a bit more quickly – but he was set on taking his time. He knelt before her, spread her legs with firm grips on her thighs, and kissed her pussy softly, then again, and then necked with it and began to eat her out. Gently at first with teasing caresses and licks, then with greater and greater gusto. She bucked against him and thrashed on the bed, helpless to do anything but let him do what he wanted. She had one hand clenching at the sheets, the other in his hair. She didn't try to hold back her cries and gasps, encouraging him with every breath, moving her hips with his every slightest move. She had a gently rhythm going at first, but that wouldn't last, and she would be at his tender mercies as he held her in place and enjoyed her.

And given how he felt and sounded, firm grip and eager tongue and sounding hungry as he ate her, he thoroughly enjoyed the offerings before him.

Tremors fired through her, small orgasms compounding and redoubling until she was shaking in place, fingers twisting the sheets, toes curling, her whole body beaded with sweat. When he glanced up at her, he spread the hood of her clit and began to lick her, exposing the little bud to the cool air of their room and the texture of his tongue. Her hips followed his motions, gracelessly and under his control, taking up that primitive tempo that was making any word with more than two syllables flee her mind. In fact, the only word that she could think just then was _more_. Then he let go of one of her legs and slid two fingers in, finding those special spots and curling his fingers again. Every nerve in her pussy fired at once, her back arched and she snapped. She was sure she yelled or shouted, but her mind went floating on hazy colours again, sent tumbling on a weightless current that carried her on and on.

When she came back to her body, her heartbeat loud in her ears and pulsing through her entire body, she was dimly aware of him licking her clean, lapping at her thighs and purring against her. She curled into herself, trying to catch her breath between gasps and whispers of his name. He ran a hand up her side, stroked her hair and chuckled, that deep, predatory baritone rolling along her superheated skin. He waited for her recover, watching with obvious pride, and when she nodded shakily, he wasted no time getting her ready. He grabbed one of their pillows, rolled her onto her hands and knees, and set the pillow under her stomach for added support.

Naoto quivered, her arms already trembling, as he got behind her, stroking her flanks and her legs, cupping and squeezing her ass possessively. _Oh boy_. Her body was beginning to tire and he hadn't gotten off once yet. She'd asked for this, but now she wasn't sure she'd survive her own machinations, and he might just take her until she passed out from pleasure.

Actually, that was exactly what the doctor ordered and sounded like the best thing in the world right now. She chuckled throatily, wiggled her hips and glanced at him over her shoulder with a saucy, albeit inexperienced, come-hither look. He grinned and smacked her ass, then again on the other cheek, got a firm hold on her hips and slowly slid in. She was wet and ready for him, but it was still a snug fit, and he had to push harder the deeper he went. Every inch stretched her out, reminded her just how different they were in size, and when he was fully inside her she had to catch her breath. No matter how often they had sex, it still felt new to have him this deep. He stopped, let her adjust, and she had a moment where she felt her own racing heart, the squirming of their baby, and his pulse deep inside her. For a second, she felt closer to him than ever, like they were connected as a family in a way she'd never have conceived before now. She wanted to remember this moment forever, and she whispered his name, and got a gentle stroke on her hip that told her, _I know_. Then he pulled halfway out, then began to go to work on her, his hips slapping into her and driving her into the bed.

Shortly after learning she was pregnant, Naoto had confirmed, through as many sources as she could, that rough sex wouldn't hurt the baby at any stage. She'd been uncertain about it until the topic slipped out while she'd been talking to Yukiko-senpai. Naoto didn't know how it came out – she didn't even remember what they'd been talking about before that point – but she had blushed furiously, and Yukiko-senpai had turned a bit red too. But then her eyes got a faraway look and she assured Naoto, even later in the pregnancy, that wouldn't cause any problems. It went unsaid, but was clearer than if it had been spoken, that Yukiko-senpai spoke from experience. So Naoto had discussed it with Kanji, citing the scientific data while omitting Yukiko-senpai's personal input, and they'd kept it in their bedroom repertoire.

The result was what she was enjoying now: Kanji getting a good pace going and taking her hard and deep, hitting her sweet spots with his characteristic reliability and attention to detail. He found just the right angle to make her tingle to the tips of her toes, just the right speed to keep her within reach of her orgasms but not enough that their fun would end too soon, and just the right amount of force to make her eyes roll in her head. She gasped and came again, small tremors and a prelude to what was coming, and he kept thrusting, drawing the pleasure and the shaky moans out of her. Without thinking, she was pushing back to meet his thrusts, arcing her back and pushing her ass up, just so, for the ideal angle. He grunted in appreciation – she could picture the grin on his face as he watched how her glutes slapped against his hips – and moved to ring her bell even harder. She could only take a few minutes of that before her elbows wobbled and she collapsed onto her front, weakly clenching at the sheets and pushing back unsteadily. Without thinking, she tried to reach back to him.

He took that as an offer she didn't know she'd made. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up, arcing her back even further and hitting even deeper. She stiffened, giving him time to grab her other arm and up his pace. Never mind handing over control, now she imagined she was being used as a self-warming sex toy, a being designed for his pleasure and nothing else. His thrusts came harder and faster, dimming her vision until even their room disappeared. Every impact sent jolts of pleasure to her brain, wrapping along her spine and jostling through every bone and joint. She was an unthinking being now, responding to his nonverbal instructions and accommodating him as he took her like he owned her. His harsh pants and rough grunts matched his thrusts, and she was left hanging above the bed, supported by his grip and her weakening knees. All she could do was enjoy it, and was she ever enjoying it, panting and crying out. Everything was coalescing, nerves firing from her curled toes to her swollen breasts and hard nipples, pulling together to set off a series of orgasms that was definitely going to–

They hit all at once. Her vision strobed, her body shook outside of her control, and everything felt floaty and light like she'd been sent up with the fireworks this time and that's why the colours splashed across her vision, why her whole body went hot from inside out. The only thing holding her to earth was Kanji's grip on her, and he slowly let her down gently until she rested on the soft fabric of their bed, trembling in the pre-shocks and after-shocks and just more shocks. Her skin popped at every point of contact, tingles and pricks going off as her body tried to regulate itself, as her mind failed to account for the pleasure it had just been given.

She could barely move. Kanji moved her onto her side, stroked her hair and stole kisses and whispered sweet sentiments in her ear. She blinked blearily, disoriented like she was hung over without the headache or nausea. Which meant she wasn't hung over, but she wasn't thinking past that point. She held onto his leg as he knelt next to her, anchored to a reality that informed her of two things, first and foremost: One, he was good for another round. Two, she could still remember her day, however little. Easily explained away and dealt with. Just put an end to their fun and call it a night, deal with it in the morning. But Tatsumi Naoto didn't do things in half measures. She'd asked to forget, and she was going to. She looked up at him, met his eyes with her intent clear, and whispered, _"Again."_

He looked a bit surprise, and then he looked a lot self-satisfied. Hearing her go off like that, seeing it, must have been a boost to his male ego. But not one to preen over his accomplishments, he rolled her onto her back, explored her gently with his hands to get a feel for her sensitivity. He stroked her skin and played with her nerves, and all she could do was whimper or hum, too weak to direct him. Along her legs and hips, up her sides and around her boobs, along her face and lips, he tasted her through his fingertips and gauged where she was. He picked up on something she didn't, or perhaps she just lacked the mental faculties for right now, and pulled her legs up around his waist, grabbed her hips, and slid to the hilt in one go, knocking her wind out. He thrust again and again, working up to the tempo he wanted, and then laid down against her and kept going.

She arched against him, but couldn't do much but enjoy the ride. Her arms wouldn't listen to her and she could barely keep her legs up. She was at his mercy, to the point that her breathing was dictated by and timed to his thrusts. He went hard and deep, taking his time with each thrust and making her feel it, strong but slow. He was dragging her pleasure out in every way he knew how, from her boobs squishing against his chest and her nipples hard and rubbing against his chest, to her superheated skin gliding against his, to how every other thrust was pressing his pelvis against her clit. None of this by accident, but because his arm was around her waist and curving her to his body just so. In no time she was flying on pleasure, gasping and moaning out loud and then into his mouth when he kissed her hard, swallowing her increasingly pleasured vocalizations.

Naoto was suffocating from the delight he was putting her through. Breathing was difficult except for when he broke the kiss, insufficient oxygen amping up the experience. Her limbs quivered with exertion and exhaustion, left weak so all she could do was hang on and enjoy it. Her body was under his control, was his, and those cascades of pleasure began to flow through her again, tightening her up and leaving her drifting, until–

Until a stray sense of familiarity hit her. Like she was momentarily detached from herself, seeing herself from the outside, she realized she'd been here before. Muddled and pleasure-drunk, being taken like a bitch in heat, this was how their tryst last time had concluded: with him so eager to take her that nothing would have stopped him, with her out of her mind, her body bracing to be inseminated, to be _bred_ and to fulfill the purpose of their copulation.

As though the realization was waiting for her to reach it, her body set off a chain reaction that ran through her from tear ducts to toe nails. It reacted to this repeat performance of the act that had knocked her up, wanted more of the same, and would have taken his seed into her fertile womb if it hadn't already done so. The timing was perfect, because he came deep inside her, a more perfect complement than could be asked for. As the thought approached her and hit like a tsunami, she grabbed the memories of her day, the pain and filth she felt, and hurled them into the heat that ran through her until she burned white.

Naoto was hit with her biggest orgasm since last time, perhaps since ever. She was sent flying, rocketing through colour bursts and tumbling on wind currents with a ringing in her ears that deafened her to anything that wasn't pleasure. Everything combined into something incredible, something that darkened her vision completely and left her floating in the numb, weightless shadows of her orgasms, letting her wonder if the specks of colour she was seeing were her own neurons firing, or if they were planets again. Saturn this time, maybe? Jupiter? Not quite there, but close enough to see them.

Her space explorations ended when a pair of arms slipped around her, large hands stroking her back and hair with the utmost tenderness. She dazedly blinked and saw Kanji, saw supreme male satisfaction and fatigue and the question in his eyes. He wondered if that was enough for her, and he was concerned about what her day had been like if it wasn't. She tangled her fingers with his and tried to kiss him, but she couldn't raise her head enough – she was so wiped out she could barely move. He closed the distance and kissed her with the gentle love that always turned her heart to goo, and if she'd been able to feel her legs, they might have wobbled. As it was, she curled up to him and nodded, answering his question: _Mission accomplished_.

He hugged her close and pulled the blankets over them; she couldn't do even that much. What she could do, however, was take his left hand in both of hers and hold it close, fingers stroking his wedding ring and hers, trying to communicate to him some fraction of her feelings for this man who had been through so much for her and with her, who worked from dawn to dusk and still made time for her before he'd ever think of himself. Her heart swelled with love for this man who kissed her before she left for work and welcomed her home, without fail; who called her every night from the conventions he attended because he missed her, and he'd say that to anyone who asked; who had navigated all their differences without thinking twice, because he believed that they were more together than they would ever be apart.

Her ally and confidante, her mate and best friend in this life, her rock, her other half, the father of her child and of any more they would have. Her partner and lover. Her _husband_.

She wanted to find some way of conveying all that and more, so deep were those feelings rooted, and when she blinked she felt happy tears fall. He wiped them with his thumb, brushed her face and smiled. He knew how she felt, or as much as she could communicate, and he returned her feelings with interest. She pressed against him and he welcomed her into the curve of his frame, their baby resting between them.

Naoto drifted in that place between drowsiness and sleep. She imagined their little one, what he or she would be like. She imagined that a girl might take after her, be studious and serious and set on her course, with long hair and a penchant for running after her father when he came into the room, following him around and falling asleep by the sewing machine, curled up to handmade plushies. Or maybe the girl would take after him, be taller than her mother and dig her heels in when she was faced with adversity, a sharp tongue to match her fierce protectiveness of the ones she loved while she argued that she could like sensitive stuff despite being so brash.

Perhaps the baby would be a boy, one who would follow in his detective mother's footsteps and apprentice to Doujima-san, set out to right injustices and make the world a little bit brighter, then have his awkward heart captured by some fine young lady. Or maybe he'd be artistic, working with his hands or perhaps become a singer or a musician, maybe even...

So many ideas, so many possibilities. And there was no saying that they had to stay at just one child. Perhaps a boy now and then a girl, or two boys and a daughter who, despite being the youngest, would rein her siblings in, all young enough to play with the Amagi children and bring laughter to the inn and the textile shop.

Tatsumi Naoto nodded off then, a smile fixed to her lips as, even in her dreams, she thought of the many futures that lay before her. She wanted that happiness, and she would strive, every day, to create beautiful memories such that she could never have imagined them before meeting Kanji, and such that she would remember them forever.


End file.
